


milk teeth

by prettyluke (buttonjimin)



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: 4+1, Angst with a Happy Ending, Coming Out, First Love, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Teen Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-07
Updated: 2016-05-07
Packaged: 2018-06-06 20:20:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6768592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttonjimin/pseuds/prettyluke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the four times Calum couldn't admit it and the one time he did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	milk teeth

1.

There’s a certain amount of affection that comes naturally with being best friends with someone for eight years, a sort of grabbiness that easily transcends the prepubescent fear of being called gay. Michael’s always been more concerned in that area, which is why Calum counts the fact that Michael lets him touch him in the most innocent ways as a victory. Calum’s always happiest when he’s touching Michael, even when it’s just a brush of elbows.

Right now, though, they’re doing Calum’s next favorite thing, which is practicing football in Calum’s backyard. Practicing is a loose term; Michael has yet to come near the ball unless it’s hitting him in the face. He stumbles, trips, falls. Does it all over again. He doesn’t stop a single goal, never manages to take the ball from Calum. Despite his athletic shortcomings, Michael tries valiantly to help Calum practice, although really the only thing he’s gaining from it is shooting practice. After a half hour, Michael’s usually panting and swearing up and down that he’s going to pass out. Calum can go for an hour after that, at least, but for Michael’s sake they stop.

Michael is on his last legs now, Calum can tell. His efforts to stop the ball rolling or flying into the goal Calum’s parents bought him for his 15th birthday are weak and halfhearted. Calum is scoring goal after goal, easily getting around Michael’s ineffective defenses.

“Cal,” Michael pants, throwing his arms up in surrender. “I give up.”

Calum kicks in one last goal to spite him, and then Michael flops down on the grass with a defeated groan. Calum smiles fondly and sits down next to him, pulling up bits of grass and tossing them away. Michael breathes heavily for a few minutes, motionless as he stares at the sky. Sweat dots his forehead and clumps his light hair together. The dampness mottles the grey of Michael’s singlet in a way Calum finds vaguely appealing. Michael sweats so easily, much more so than himself, but that probably has something to do with the fact that he _knows_ Michael’s already on his way to growing facial hair and hair in other places, like the wispy blond that tickles under his armpits. Calum’s got none of either. His voice is just starting to crack.

“This is so unfair,” Michael declares. “You’re not even sweating. We’ve been playing, like, forever.”

“It’s been half an hour.”

“What? No way. It felt like an hour, at least,” Michael protests indignantly. He’s propped himself on on his elbows, full of so much conviction he can’t help himself.

“My watch says it was half an hour.”

“Maybe your watch is wrong,” Michael grumbles, lying down again. Calum gets down on his stomach and continues to pick at the grass, raised slightly above him. His breath hasn’t fully returned to him, but he’s feeling all right. “I don’t know how you do this.”

“You’re just exceptionally unathletic,” Calum says, grinning proudly. At fifteen, he has little to boast about. No bodily hair, no deep voice. His grades are average, nowhere close to Mali’s. He’s skinnier than a pole and awkward to boot. But God, he can run, and he can shoot. He’s playing on a good league team now, just hoping and praying that he’ll get scouted by the end of secondary so he doesn’t have to go to college, because he wouldn’t know what to do with himself.

“Yeah, but you’re like, superhuman, or something,” Michael sighs, gesticulating with one hand. He brandishes it about, nearly catching Calum in the face. Calum feels another burst of pride at Michael’s praise. He leans close, his face a few inches above Michael’s and a few inches to the right.

“Coach says maybe I’ll go pro,” Calum whispers, as if saying it too loudly might jinx the whole thing.

“Of course you will,” Michael says. He pauses reverently and then adds with a mischievous grin, “You have to, because you suck at everything else.”

“Shut up!” Calum gasps, slapping his chest. Michael makes a wounded noise that he ignores. Knowing Michael, it’s just for dramatic effect. “I’m good at English.”

There is that. He’s good at English, decent at guitar. When he’s upset, he locks himself up in his room and plays around until he hits some chords that sound okay together and some shitty riffs that are at least in the same key, slaps on some messy lyrics with dumb rhymes like _I wish I could stop loving you, I don’t know what to do,_ and then sings until his throat hurts. He hasn’t told Michael about the songs and half-songs he has written down in the notebook under his pillow, though. Michael would probably laugh. Besides, Michael’s better at the guitar, and Luke is, too. Sometimes Michael’s so impressed with Luke’s guitaring and his stupid fucking voice (and okay, _fine_ , Calum will agree that he’s an amazing singer) that Calum wishes he had more to show for himself. He can’t even really hate Luke, because Luke is shy and unassuming and had to put up with Michael’s relentless ribbing for years and certainly doesn’t lord his skills over Calum. He knows, too, maybe because Calum makes sure it’s obvious, that Calum and Michael have been best friends practically forever and that nothing can really come between them. But, yeah, it’s a thing, sort of, this horrible hungry thing inside him that just _wants._ He wants to sing, he wants to play guitar, he wants a pro football deal. He wants Michael’s attention. He wants it all, and, well, nobody can have everything.

“Yes, you are,” Michael admits grudgingly. “But I’ll always be better at guitar. And video games.”

Calum rolls his eyes. Michael can take his video games and stick it. As far as he’s concerned, video games aren’t going to get Michael into college. “All right. Whatever.”

Michael looks horribly smug, and Calum wants to kiss his smirk right off. He does, honestly. There’s something about the way he looks, flushed and sweaty as he is, that wrings something fairly horrible from Calum. If he goes for it, just leans down and does it, would Michael hate him? No, probably not. It might mess things up between them, though. Still, they’d eventually make up. Is it worth it?

Calum is leaning closer and closer, and the battle in his head never ceases. He’s almost there, just poised above, and then he hears the telltale screech of the screen door opening. Like a deer in the headlights, he jerks his head up, twisting his neck to see who opened it.

It’s only Mali, thank goodness. He feels his cheeks heat up anyway. She yells, “Mum told me to tell you it’s time for dinner!”

Michael reaches up to brush some stray hair out of his face and sits up so fast he knocks heads with Calum. Calum curses, reeling back, and they both pick themselves up, rubbing their heads and groaning.

“You probably gave me a concussion,” Calum grumbles, trying to hide the blush spreading across his cheeks. Had Michael guessed that he was going to try to kiss him? If he did, why didn’t he do anything about it?

“I’m _sorry_ ,” Michael says exasperatedly. He stands up. “Are you gonna get up, or what?” He offers his hand to Calum, and Calum looks up at him in some sort of desperation. He almost did it, almost was there, and he isn’t sure he can get the nerve up to try it again.

Calum takes Michael’s hand and lets himself be lifted to his feet. They trudge across the grass, avoiding each other’s eyes. Calum trails a good distance behind Michael. As he walks into the house, Mali gives him one of her looks that pierces right through to his soul, and he can’t bear it.

 

* * *

2.

It starts small. They’re fifteen, and Michael begins to act strangely in Calum’s presence. Michael doesn’t like to touch that much normally, but he’s been almost clingy to the point where Calum has to politely detach himself to do basic things like use the bathroom. It’s summer time and Calum doesn’t even mind that it’s too hot for their skin to be in contact. Michael’s touchiness thrills him, almost. It’s a free pass to be as grabby as he wants.

Michael does sort of floor him when they’re hanging out in Michael’s room and playing video games. He just asks, out of the blue, “Do you ever think about dicks?”

And, for a teenage boy, Calum doesn’t think he thinks about dicks more than the next guy. Maybe a little more.

“Not really,” he says, focusing on taking out the other team in the FPS game. “I mean, I guess I think about my own, sometimes.”

“But, like, do you think about other people’s dicks,” Michael adds as an afterthought, shooting a zombie’s head off. Calum’s sort of glad they’re distracted by the shitty, gory graphics, or he’d probably be sporting a semi. “Like, what they would feel like? Or look like?”

“I know what dicks feel like and look like,” Calum says, brow furrowing. He doesn’t _quite_ know where Michael’s going with this, but it makes him a little uncomfortable. What if he lets on something crucial? “I do have a dick, you know.”

“I don’t mean, like—your _own_ dick. Just, what it would feel like to—touch one?”

Calum puts his controller down and lets the zombies rip off his player’s head. “I really don’t know where you’re going with this,” he says cautiously. “What, you want to touch a dick, or something?”

Michael shrinks back, reddening immediately. “God, I was just _curious_ ,” he exclaims, indignantly. “We don’t have to talk about it if it makes uncomfortable, Mr. McStraight.”

Calum takes a breath, watching Michael grumble under his breath, obviously embarrassed. “We can talk about it,” Calum says slowly. “Are you, like—?” Calum can’t bring himself to finish the sentence. _Are you, like, gay?_

“Not necessarily,” Michael denies immediately. “I mean, I don’t know. I’ve never asked myself whether I might want to see someone else’s dick. Then it came to me the other night that maybe I should start thinking about it more. Just in case, like, it turns out I’m into that.”

Michael is making just enough sense to get through to Calum. Calum shivers, trying to suppress his own thoughts on the subject. No, it’s not the right time to share. This is about Michael, and because Calum is his best friend, he’s just going to listen. “And are you?” Calum asks, afraid he’ll say yes, afraid he’ll say no. Oh, the possibilities. Calum’s stomach twists violently.

“I’m curious,” Michael repeats, fidgeting now. Their characters have died a dozen times over by now. “I’d just never thought about it before.”

“Hm.” Calum pretends like he hasn’t thought about it either. He’s buying himself some time to figure out how to deal with this. The thing is, even though he should be thrilled that Michael is apparently into his gender (maybe, at least), he wasn’t planning to ever actually do anything about it. “Well, like, have you had any other...gay thoughts?”

Michael looks at him like he’s grown a second head. Calum feels like maybe that was a bad way to put it, but it’s out there now. “It’s not like...” Michael gives him an uncomfortable look. “I mean, I’m not gay. Hypothetically, if I _was_ into dicks and stuff, I wouldn’t, like, want to do all the really gay stuff. Like kissing. I’m not into guys like that, for sure.”

“Okay.” Calum gives him a long look. “How are you gonna figure it out?”

“I’ll have to have sex with a guy,” Michael says casually. If Calum wasn’t so used to him talking about sex since the minute they found what porn was when they were ten, he would probably choke on his own spit.

“And how do you plan to do that? Who do you think is gonna fuck you?”

“I don’t know. I’ll have to find someone.”

“Do you want it up the ass, or are you the one giving, or—”

“I don’t know, Cal. You’re making this awkward.”

“Sorry.” Calum rubs at his warming cheeks miserably. He tries very hard not to blurt out everything he’s looked up about gay sex. Michael sighs and rolls his eyes and picks at the bedsheets, waiting for Calum to say something else. Calum sort of wants to die, a little. He isn’t good at talking about these things. He’s not quite as easily irreverent as Michael, and all this talk (and thought) about sex makes him want to bury his head in the sand.

“Are you uncomfortable?” Michael blurts out. “I know you’re pretty straight. This is probably weird for you. You’re, like, a jock, and obviously you’ve never thought about other guys’ dicks.”

“I can think about them if I want,” Calum says defensively, folding his arms. “Just because I’m good at footy, doesn’t mean I can’t think about other people’s dicks. For your information, I think about them all the time.”

“You do?” Michael says hopefully.

Calum blinks at him stupidly. “What? No, I mean—well, not _all_ the time.”

“Oh my god. You think about it too.”

“I—” Calum sputters, shaking his head. His whole face is burning. Michael thinks he likes dicks, and he’ll probably never dissuade him of the notion again.

“This is perfect,” Michael says eagerly. “ _We_ could have sex.”

Calum continues to botch any attempt to speak. “That’s crazy,” he manages to say, going bug-eyed. “We can’t just—”

“We both have dicks and need to figure things out. We don’t have to actually—just a hand, maybe. To start.”

“To _start_? How much are we going to do?”

Michael looks at Calum pleadingly, and God, Calum’s weak as hell. But it’s not like he doesn’t want what Michael’s suggesting. It’s just that he wants more, he wants every facet of a relationship, not _just_ the sex, and he’s afraid he’s going to get too attached. Yet still, he cannot bring himself to say no.

“Just a hand,” Calum says, covering his face with his hands. “Just because I’m your best friend and best friends help each other figure out if they’re gay or not.”

Calum jerks Michael off that day, sucks him off the next week, and from there it spirals out of control.

They don’t take it to actual sex yet. After all, neither of them are excited for anything up their asses and can never come to a conclusion on who would bottom in such a situation. Besides the constant argument about who gets to take which role, there’s the insurmountable problem of acquiring proper supplies for that sort of thing. Anyway, it isn’t a plan yet. But that doesn’t mean he stops himself from thinking of Michael when he jerks off. He feels less guilty about it now. It’s okay to be turned on by a guy. A hand is a hand and a mouth is a mouth, and the fact that it belongs to his best friend, someone he trusts almost unconditionally, just makes him more comfortable.

They are taking it further, though.

Michael brought up the idea of snapchatting nudes, since although they do see each other more than is probably healthy or productive, they can’t _always_ be together (even though Calum would be perfectly happy to have Michael by his side, always). Calum’s a little worried about it. It’s not that he thinks Michael will leak his nudes, or something. He trusts Michael just fine. He is worried, however, that he’ll be bad at the whole sexting thing. He’s going to be sixteen soon, but he still feels embarrassed when they try dirty talking or when he attempts to be sexier than he is capable of being as an awkward, adolescent boy.

Michael assures him he won’t laugh. Calum has to work up the courage, starting with just faceless pictures of himself shirtless, something Michael has seen countless times, just usually not in this context. He’s less conscious about his stomach than Michael is, given that he’s got some sort of definition from playing footy and being generally more active than Michael ever has been, but he doesn’t really care that Michael’s tummy is soft and curved.

Michael replies to the pic with a thumbs up and his own shirt off. Calum looks at the picture for the full ten seconds, momentarily captivated by the smooth paleness of Michael’s torso. Neither of them have any chest hair yet, which Calum kind of likes.

Michael texts him, _you gonna take your pants off?_

Calum debates that point. His door doesn’t lock, so he’ll have to take the picture quickly. He slides off his shorts and boxers and works quickly, the camera capturing his lower thighs all the way up to his mouth. He tries to remember everything Michael likes and everything he’s seen in porn, though he doesn’t want to look dumb for trying too hard. He settles for biting his lip and stroking up his cock, just so Michael can see he’s hard and ready to get off. He adds the caption, _wish you were here._

Right as he’s about to send, his door starts to open, and he panics and yanks his shorts and boxers up and sends it as fast as he can before settling back down and trying to look natural as his mum comes in. He smiles weakly, heart racing.

“I brought you clean laundry,” she says, putting it down on the end of his bed. “You have practice later, so make sure you eat something before you go.”

Bless his oblivious mother. He sighs and settles back onto the bed, waiting for Michael’s reply. He opens his messages and types, _sent you something ;)._

He only feels a little awkward about taking a video of himself jerking off. Speaking of, the intrusion of his mother into his room killed his boner. He reaches down under his basketball shorts and wraps his hand around his cock again, shutting his eyes and stroking, up, down, up, down. He’s a little more of a teaser, normally, but right now speed is his friend if he wants to finish before practice tonight.

When his door bursts open again, he doesn’t get his hand out of his boxers in time. He’s still pulling his hand out when Mali starts brandishing her phone, a look of horror on her face. “What in the name of God did you just send me?” she screeches.

Gaping, Calum stutters, “I—I—?”

“Your dick. I just saw your dick. I really hope you didn’t mean to send that to me.”

“I didn’t,” Calum says, gasping. Shit, shit, shit. This is exactly what he was worried about. A _mistake_. “It wasn’t for you, it wasn’t.”

“Who was it meant for? You know that girls don’t like unsolicited dick pics, right? If you’re one of those guys, I swear to God...”

Calum covers his face with his hand, the skin hot to the touch. He fights the tight feeling in his throat, the humiliation. He’s going to have a stomachache for days trying to forget this. “It wasn’t for a girl, I was sending it to Michael. I must have clicked on the wrong name, I—I didn’t mean to.”

Mali is quiet, momentarily stumped. By the time the pounding in Calum’s ears dies down, she says, “Are you and Michael a thing?”

“What?” Calum chokes, “ _Fuck_ no. I was just, just, we were just comparing size. It’s a guy thing.”

“You were biting your lip. ‘Wish you were here,’” she imitates. She raises her eyebrows, looking expectantly at him. He hates how she can always see right through him. When they were little, she was a much better liar, and he was the one who always gave it away. “Cal?”

“Can you just leave me alone?” Calum grits out, crossing his arms. There’s no way he’s going to let Mali’s imagination run wild; the thought of her spreading this, discussing this with their mother, her friends, _his friends_ , makes him nearly sick. Fear grips him and refuses to let go. “It was an accident.”

“Cal,” Mali says again, more gently this time. “I mean, it was just a shock to get a—a sext from you. And if it was meant for Michael, why—”

“It’s a joke. It’s just a joke, okay?”

The thing is, if this ever got out, he would be absolutely mortified. He likes playing footy because it makes him feel masculine, makes him feel cool and lets him hang out with the popular kids at school. People  _like_ him. He might even get a footy scholarship, and what if nobody wants to recruit the gay player? It’ll stop being about how well he plays and about which team he plays for. He’ll be tormented in the locker room. He’ll be tormented _everywhere_.

“It’s okay if you’re gay. Or maybe you’re bi, or—I don’t know. We can talk about this. You don’t have to figure it out on your own. You know I’m always here.”

“Oh my god! Will you shut up? I’m not gay. It was a joke between you and Michael. Just drop it. I said I was fucking sorry!” Calum realizes he’s shouting and takes a deep breath, loosening his fists. He’ll have marks on his palms from his nails later. His head is swirling with emotions he doesn’t even have the strength to sort through. But he hardly ever shouts at Mali, and she’s looking a bit taken aback.

“I’m here if you need me,” she says, and gives him an almost disappointed look. Well, what was that for?

He needs to stop fucking around with Michael. It’s going to lead to trouble, if today is any example to go by.

But he doesn’t stop.

 

* * *

3.

It’s been a year since they started doing _things_ together, but Michael’s stopped bothering to say _no homo_ after everything they do, and Calum’s careless. They have their first kiss after Calum’s first season game, alone in the locker room after everyone else has cleared out. It’s desperate, charged, and terrifying, and for once they don’t trade any jokes about being gay. It’s starting to feel too real.

Michael always comes to Calum’s games, despite his frequent complaints that the uniform is too baggy on Calum, who lacks the breadth and muscle to fill it out. Calum supposes he must still be all right to look at; Michael insists he’s hot when he’s showing off his athletic skill. It’s the sort of thing that makes him laugh externally, but gets his stomach fluttering.

They’re sitting on the bench when it happens. And it just happens, no warning. They fall silent, the conversation dying, and half the lights in the locker room are off. They’re sitting half in the dark and trying to see each other still, and somehow Michael slides an arm around Calum’s waist and cups his face and just goes for it.

Although they’ve definitely done worse things together, they’ve never kissed while they were at it.

It’s what Calum was afraid of, a shot of warmth like the time he downed a glass of wine in one go at a family dinner on a dare from his cousin. Michael’s fingers are so soft against his cheek, and he feels his own lips tremble and his breath come heavy. He can barely breathe, his head is so light. He’s dizzy and scared and he likes it and he doesn’t want to.

Michael rests his forehead against Calum’s afterward, thumb stroking over Calum’s cheekbone. It’s so gentle, so uncharacteristically tender that Calum feels tears starting up in his eyes. He doesn’t want to be the loser who cries after his first kiss, but he’s already shaking, and God, he can’t keep denying it to himself. He loves Michael so fucking badly. Maybe he’s not in love, since they’re hardly sixteen, but Michael’s his best friend in the whole world, and he loves him, he does. He has to be fair to Michael. They’re in this together.

Tears slide over Michael’s hand. Michael removes his hand and glances at it, pulling back to frown. He looks up at Calum and sees him blinking, tears slipping out faster than he can face, and then Michael gets that look of concern and guilt and pain on his face like it’s his fault. It’s not.

“Was that not okay?” Michael asks, hushed. He reaches down to hold Calum’s hand, his way of offering comfort. “I’m sorry. I just thought, since we—I thought you wanted—”

“I do,” Calum whispers, sniffling and wiping his eyes with his knuckles. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m crying.”

Michael is silent for a bit, letting him calm down on his own. “We don’t have to do this,” Michael says quietly. “If you’re not ready, or if—you think it’ll ruin your scholarship chances. I know that’s important to you, and nothing is more important to me than what makes you happy. I won’t come between.”

And oh, fuck, Calum _is_ in love with him, because Michael is giving him the choice, disregarding his own feelings, and it’s clear Michael wants to do this for real. His mother told him when he was a kid that true love is wanting someone to be happy even if it’s without you, and Michael would do that—Michael would let him go so he could be happy. That’s what makes Calum lean forward and bury his damp eyes in Michael’s shoulder, and Michael strokes his back, and that’s it, they’re fucked together.

Michael’s over at his house today, and Calum is just happy. He’s happy when Michael’s around, even though he’s still scared. At least around Michael, he doesn’t have to be ashamed. They’re sleeping down in the basement for fun (read: to be alone). They don’t even bother playing video games; they’re both a little drowsy and ready to skip to the real reason they’re here. The only thing about the basement is that a draught continually runs through the room, so they pile onto the couch together and drape the blanket over the both of them. They’re just a heap on the couch, a big, warm, giggly heap.

“Sh, not so loud,” Calum whispers when Michael lets out a loud laugh. His family should be asleep by now, and the last thing he wants is for someone to come down and reprimand them about being too loud and accidentally catch them making out.

“We’re not fucking, or anything,” Michael protests in a whisper. “If anyone comes to see, you were tickling me.”

Calum reaches down and digs his fingers into Michael’s side before wriggling them about, and Michael squirms, back arching off the couch. He slaps a hand over his mouth, trying not to laugh aloud. “Quit it!” he whisper-shouts. “That wasn’t cool. I just want to kiss you.”

“Okay, okay,” Calum giggles, readjusting himself and scooting around until he’s at a good level with Michael and then lowers his mouth. They kiss gently, slowly for a bit, and then Calum moves wrong and digs his knee somewhere into Michael’s shin and earns a yelp of pain. He can’t stop himself from laughing, which causes Michael to slap his shoulder and yank him back down to keep kissing, but then they’re both laughing. Part of the fun is trying to stay quiet. Michael gets in a few kisses here and there, determined as he is.

“You’re so fucking annoying,” Michael says, grinning fondly. “I swear to God.”

“Shut up,” Calum laughs, and goes back down for a kiss.

They finally settle into a rhythm, with one of Michael’s hands on Calum’s back and the other in his hair, and Calum just braces himself at a comfortable height. He likes when Michael controls things, because Michael seems to know what to do. He likes when Michael tugs at his hair a little, lets him feel the strain at the roots. He even likes when Michael bites at his bottom lip, pulls it between his teeth. He used to think French kissing was gross before he kissed Michael, and then somehow Michael made it seem appealing.

Calum could honestly kiss Michael for hours. It’s comfortable and causes a rush of affection in his chest. But then the basement door opens, and he rolls over to the other side of Michael, sandwiched between a body and the couch. He tries to slow his breathing down, but his hands get clammy. “Yeah?” he calls.

“Did you take my charger?” Mali says, coming down the basement stairs. She must be home from her night out. Ever since she graduated, she’s been quite the clubber. She’s working, though, singing in bars and working for a record deal, so Calum can’t really fault her. It goes with the image. “I can’t find it anywhere.”

“No,” Calum says, scowling. Great; she’s interrupted them for a fucking phone charger. He can’t catch a break sometimes. He gets one night alone with Michael, and she has to bother him.

“Are you sure? Dad said he thought you might have grabbed it. I left it in the living room.”

“I took mine from my room.” Calum peers at her in the dark. She stands at the bottom of the stairs, her hair a golden blonde, but still black at the roots. “What have you done to your hair?”

“Do you like it?”

“No. It looks ridiculous. You’re not white.”

“Shut up, Cal.”

Calum groans, feeling Michael’s chest vibrate with laughter next to him. His hand still rests over Michael’s sternum. “It looks good, I guess. Will you leave us alone?”

“Us?”

“Hey, Mali,” Michael offers. In the dark basement, Mali must not have seen Michael. “We’re sleeping down here tonight.”

Mali is suddenly quiet. “Did I interrupt?” she says, going serious for a moment. Calum rubs his temple, trying to fight off the incoming headache. “Don’t tell me you guys are making out down here. Shit, don’t tell me you’re going to _fuck_ down here. Is this why you’re not in your room?”

“Shut up,” Calum snaps, sitting up. His blood runs cold. “You shouldn’t say things like that. I didn’t take your fucking charger.” He yanks his from the wall behind the couch. “Here, you can take mine. Okay? I’ll just use Michael’s.”

“It was a joke,” Mali says evenly. She’s taken to provoking Calum lately, more so than she ever has. She’s waiting for him to admit it to himself before he even admits it to her. She’s trying to push him there. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Just go,” Calum says through gritted teeth. “Please?” he adds, slightly softer in tone this time.

Mali walks over and grabs the charger. “Thanks. I’ll give it back in the morning.”

“Great. See you then.”

Mali’s probably rolling her eyes; Calum can’t tell. She walks back up the stairs and leaves, shutting the door behind her. Calum exhales heavily and flops back down by Michael’s side. “She’s always getting on my nerves,” he grumbles.

Michael is surprisingly subdued. “You should come out to her,” he says uncertainly. “I mean, why are you even bothering to keep it a secret? She’s obviously guessed. Didn’t you send her your nudes once?”

“Come out?” Calum laughs out loud. “I don’t need to come out to anyone.”

Again, the quiet. It’s not like Michael to not have a witty one-liner or at least some jab. “What do you mean?” he says, sitting up. “I’ve already come out to my family and told them I’m bi.”

“That’s you, not me.”

“Are you ever going to come out?” Michael presses. Calum wonders if he’s antsy about it, if he’s been thinking about it and hasn’t brought it up. Does it bother Michael that he hasn’t followed suit? Does Michael want to be open about it? He thought they agreed to keep it between the two of them.

“No.” Calum sits up now, too. “Where’s this coming from? I thought you said we could just keep it private.”

“I know,” Michael says, itching at the neck of his t-shirt. “I just think—I mean, your family at least should know. They’re not going to disown you. I know it’s scary, but I don’t think there’s any danger.”

“What does my family need to know?” Calum says, wrinkling his forehead. He’s already tired of talking about this. He fidgets, restless and agitated.

“That you’re gay?”

Calum has to stop himself from clenching his fists. Measuredly, he says, “I’m not gay.”

“If you’re not gay, what are you? Bi, pan?” Michael makes it sound like a rhetorical question.

“I’m not anything,” Calum says, shaking his head. “This is just an exception.”

Michael doesn’t speak for a few painful seconds, and then he reaches forward and covers Calum’s hand with his own. “Oh, _Cal_ ,” he says softly, concern clear in his voice. “We need to talk about this.”

Calum can already feel himself shaking again. He hates when that happens. “There’s nothing to talk about. Why are you doing this to me? We were having fun.”

“Listen,” Michael says quietly. “I’m still your best friend. You don’t have to be afraid with me.”

Calum won’t think about it. He won’t say it. “I’m not afraid of anything. You’re an exception. I mean, it’s not like we’re going to be together forever, right? I’ll marry some girl someday, so there’s no need to jump to conclusions and box me into some label I don’t fit.”

Michael is giving him a lot of these long pauses, but this one by far is the longest and the hardest to bear. Calum tries not to overthink, but when Michael speaks, he detects a tremor, a break in his stoic support. “So this is temporary for you. I thought this was, like, a long term thing. That someday you’d come out. Thought that’s what we were working toward.”

“There’s no need for that,” Calum repeats, feeling smaller by the second. He can sense Michael is upset, and it feels pretty shitty. “Michael?”

“Cal, I _can’t_. I can’t do this. You’re so fucking repressed and you don’t even _know_ it. I’m sad because ever since I can remember I’ve wanted to be with you however I could, but I’m also sad because—because I thought we were just keeping it to ourselves so you could get a scholarship, and all. But I didn’t know you saw this as an exception. I thought you’d accepted yourself. I—we’re dating, Cal, aren’t we? No, don’t say we aren’t. What else can we call this? You have to take it for what it is. You have to take yourself for who you are.”

“Are you breaking up with me?” Calum asks, horrified. He grips at his throat, feeling his lungs starting to struggle. No, no panic attack now. He can’t.

Michael’s eyes widen in the dark, seemingly realizing he gave an overdose of reality Calum wasn’t ready for. “No, no. Don’t. Just don’t.”

Calum tries to breathe deeply and calm down. Tears sting his eyes; he feels as if he’s in limbo, free falling. He has that feeling in the pit of his stomach, and not the fun kind, either. He can’t admit it to himself, but he can’t lose Michael. “How do I make you stay?”

“I need you to be real,” Michael whispers. “Just tell me something real. So I know I’m not going to lose you.”

Calum takes a long breath. He pushes Michael back into a lying position and kisses down from his forehead to the tip of his nose and then his cheeks. His tears are dripping down onto Michael’s face, and he wipes them off for Michael’s benefit. “Okay,” he whispers fearfully.

“Something real,” Michael repeats, roping him down with one arm. “Tell me.”

“I love you,” Calum whispers, and then stops, burying his face in Michael’s chest.

“Real,” Michael whispers.

“I love you, I love you.”

“You promise?”

“I promise, I love you. Always, and forever, I love you. Always, always.” Calum keeps mumbling, keeps crying, desperate and pleading for Michael to keep him, to keep him safe always.

“Always,” Michael whispers.

“Always, _always_.”

 

* * *

4.

Calum is run-down, worn thin. It feels like his body is giving up on him. He gets over the flu during third term, and after that he doesn’t feel quite himself again. His body aches and his mother keeps checking him for fevers. She can’t figure out what’s wrong with him.

The more time he spends with his teammates, the sicker he feels. He can feel their concern, but he feels out of body, like he’s ceased to be Calum. He splits his life the way he always did, between Michael and football, but rather than feeling it as two halves of himself, it feels like he’s two different people. He doesn’t know how he came to be so disparate.

He and Michael touch after school, in his bedroom. His parents are at work, and he needs Michael to distract him. Michael has him up against the wall, biting marks into his neck. Calum’s sort of half hard with the promise that he’s getting off today and the gentle pressure on his neck. He’ll deal with the marks later, use Mali’s concealer to cover them up. He stole a tube from her a while back for the same purpose.

Michael starts mouthing at Calum’s jaw, and he shuts his eyes and gives himself over to the feeling. He tries to forget everything when he’s with Michael. It’s a good distraction, even if it is the source of his problem.

“You’re thinking,” Michael mumbles, reaching up and pushing Calum’s hair back. “Come on. Just let go. We can cut to the chase, if you want.”

Calum half-smiles, and Michael dips his fingers down below the waistband of Calum’s pants and underwear. Calum holds his breath as Michael cups him, the tips of his fingers brushing behind his balls. Thank goodness he’s learned an iota of self control.

“Want to get right to it?” Michael murmurs in his ear. Calum nods eagerly. In minutes, Michael has him almost on the edge, his hand warm and firm around his cock. He’s panting, sweating, desperately rolling his hips up to meet Michael’s hand. Michael bites his collarbone, and Calum doesn’t even care anymore that he’ll be covered in marks tomorrow (probably already is).

Calum is close, so close, when his door opens.

He catches the look of realization on Mali’s face, realizes himself that this is it. This is the end. She sees Michael’s hand down his pants, the marks all over his skin, and no matter what he says this time, he will never convince her again that he’s straight. And he’s stupid, stupid, stupid.

“No,” Calum chokes, shoving Michael away. He scrambles to zip his jeans back up, to straighten his hair, a weak attempt to preserve what small dignity he has left, but it’s no use. “No, no, no.”

“Cal,” Mali says with that soft, pained look in her eyes. “Cal, it’s okay.”

“This isn’t—this isn’t what it looks like. This is not—”

“It’s _okay._ You don’t have to explain it to me.”

“This isn’t me. I’m not like this. It’s a mistake.” His vision is blurred, and Mali looks close to tears. Michael stands with his head down. “Mali, please.”

“You don’t have to make excuses,” Mali says, reaching forward presumably to hug him, but Calum avoids her arms. “I already know.”

“I’m not gay, Mali. You have to tell me you understand that. Okay?”

“You and I both know that’s not fair to anyone,” Mali says, and when Calum looks at Michael, he knows. Michael grabs his SnapBack and secures it on his head, the bill pointing to the back.

“Michael,” Calum begs, “come on.”

Michael shakes his head unhappily. If he wants to stay, it isn’t clear. He heard everything Calum said, and it was too much. “I think it’s best if I go,” he says. “I just can’t do this. Okay? You have to make a decision. I can’t be the skeleton in your closet anymore.”

Calum feels his chest collapsing. He wants the ground to swallow him whole. He can’t take the weight of this, all his demons crawling out from under the bed at once. He doesn’t breathe until he hears the door downstairs slam, and then he feels everything slam into him.

“Is this what you wanted?” he says, voice tight. He swipes blindly at his eyes. “Huh? For two years you’ve been trying to prove I’m gay. Are you happy?”

“I’m sorry,” she says, eyes wide, stretching her hand between them like a sign of truce. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. You know I would never do anything to hurt you.” She won’t stop looking at him with those horrible, pitying eyes. And she saw it all happen, saw it unfold right before her.

“This is _your_ fault,” he sobs, smacking at her hand when she tries to touch him. “This is all your fault. Now you’ve ruined _everything_. Why can’t you ever just leave me the fuck alone?”

Calum realizes he’s shouting, really shouting, and for whatever, Mali doesn’t shout back. She just nods sadly and backs up. “I’m sorry,” she repeats. “You need some space, I know. I’ll go.”

“Don’t you ever mess in my personal business again,” Calum yells. “Ever, ever.”

\---

Calum stays curled up on his bedroom floor for a while, listening to cars pass outside and the muffled whimpers coming from his throat. Mali’s room is awfully silent; he can’t even hear any of her usual music, the kind she listens to when she’s mad at their parents or suffering from a break up. For a while, he just lies and listens, knuckles slipping over the wet skin under his eyes but making no real attempt to dry it.

He can’t stop himself from checking his phone again and again in the hopes that Michael might have texted him. He’s desperate for a sign that this is going to resolve itself easily. He’s never fought with Michael for more than a few hours at most, but this feels like a real, heavy fight.

It takes him a long time to sort through his emotions. He’s angry at Mali, first and foremost, and that takes a while to get past. Mali pushed too far, like when she used to chase him around the house until he cried, but he was the one who hurt Michael. This time, she only made the mistake of walking in. If he hadn’t been so afraid of himself, he wouldn’t have said all those things, and Michael might have stayed.

Being angry at himself somehow gives him enough clarity to move onto the bed and start thinking. He thinks and thinks and thinks, admits it to himself and then lets the admission rattle him to the bone.

His mother comes to call him for dinner, but he doesn’t even bother lifting his head from where he faces the wall. He hears Mali’s soft voice just outside, cajoling his mother, and then his mother says she’ll bring him something instead. She leaves a plate of food on his desk, but he doesn’t eat it.

Late in the night, he finally sits up on the edge of his bed and unlocks his phone with trembling fingers. He feels weak after crying for so long, and he listens to the dial tone for close to a minute before he hears Michael’s voicemail.

_“You’ve reached Michael Clifford. I’m not available right now. Leave a message after the tone.”_

Calum sniffles and wipes his nose with an already sopping tissue. He sees himself in the mirror, eyes swollen and red and raw-looking. They feel like they’ve been sandpapered. The tone rings in his ear.

“Hi, Mikey,” he says almost in a whisper. “It’s Calum. I know you probably don’t want to talk to me right now, but I need you to know how sorry I am. I didn’t mean what I said. I’ve been thinking about some hard things and I just need you to tell me that everything’s going to be okay. Please? Don’t make me face this alone.” Calum swallows past the lump in his throat and tries not to let his voice shake. “Just—call me back, okay? I’ll be waiting.”

He hangs up.

\---

He stays home from school the next day, knowing he can’t face Michael yet. He feels his first sense of peace in forever settle over him as he realizes he’s totally alone in the house. He spends the first half of the morning talking to himself, relishing the solitude.

He talks to himself as he makes breakfast, talks to himself as he gets dressed. Then he stands in front of the mirror and keeps talking, afraid to stop in case he can’t find his voice again.

“You,” he says, touching the mirror roughly level with his chest. It looks like he’s jabbing himself in the chest. “You’re gay.”

The word feels strange in his mouth, like clothes that aren’t too big or small all around, just the wrong shape. He looks critically at himself, just in a t-shirt and briefs, watching his reflection in the mirror. He’s still thin, but now that he’s seventeen, he’s starting to muscle up in some places. There’s still something breakable and vulnerable that he hasn’t shaken.

He clears his throat and starts again. “You’re gay,” he tells himself, and watches his reflection try to swallow that down. Even alone in his room, he feels a shiver of nausea ripple through him momentarily. That won’t do. “You’re gay.”

The more he says the words, the stranger they sound, like any word does when you repeat it enough. But after a while, he isn’t as sick.

The freshness of his revelation clears his mind long enough for him to catch up on some homework, which leaves him feeling satisfied. He checks his phone intermittently. Michael still hasn’t texted or called back.

Mali comes home in the afternoon. Thinking it’s his mother, Calum goes out into the hall to greet her, and then stares, blindsided, at his sister. Her hair is almost half black again, he notes absently. They lock eyes and Calum’s heart starts thumping wildly, his guilt flooding back in.

“Hey,” she says first, taking the brunt of the awkwardness the way she always has. She’s good at making amends, good at talking the way he never has been. Today he has to be the brave one and carry the apology.

“Hey.”

“Heard you stayed home today.”

“Yeah,” he says, fidgeting. “I, um, didn’t want to see Michael at school.”

Mali, despite any hurt feelings she may harbor, immediately shifts into concern. “You guys haven’t talked it out?”

Calum can tell she’s sort of itching to play the wise older sister and coach him through it. She’s probably been waiting for years for him to have his first heartbreak so she could try to fix him up herself. It’s her thing, he thinks. She’s always been the fastest to bandage his knees and take the splinters out. He owes it to her now to let her in.

“No,” he admits.

Mali asks, “Do you want to talk about it?”

And normally he would say no and go off to nurse his wounds in private, but he knows he can bridge the gap this way. She’s expecting him to say no, but there’s an ounce of hope in her eyes, and he’ll give it to her.

Mali lets him come to her room and makes him sit on the bed, the gaudy satin bedspread rather uncomfortably hot. He shifts around and tries to make himself comfortable, keeping his complaints to himself.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” he starts, cheeks flushing. He looks down at the bed. “It wasn’t fair.”

She gives him a tired smile, still straightening things out and not really paying attention. “Consider it forgotten.”

“I know you only push when you think it’s for the best. I know you wanted to push me out of my shell.”

She nods and sits down at her desk chair. “I shouldn’t have pushed so hard. I didn’t expect you to be so—so—” She gestures vaguely with her carefully manicured hand.

“Repressed?” Calum says, mouth quirking up in a half smile. “Michael said that, too.”

Mali gets back up and climbs onto the bed next to him. She wrangles him into a hug and pulls him toward her until he leans against her and lets her embrace him. She gives the best hugs, always warm and snug. He always feels safe when she holds him. Her fingers comb through his curls.

“It’s okay to be afraid,” she says. “I think that’s what you needed to hear. I guess we all just pushed you too soon. I should have let you come to terms in your own time. I thought I was doing what was best for you. I thought maybe if I pushed you a little, you’d get there faster.”

Calum looks down at his fingers, where they tangle together. “I probably shouldn’t have dived headfirst into it with Michael. Was I—naive? I don’t know what I thought.”

“Teenagers date. You’re hardly the first.”

“No, I know.” He pauses, sighing. “We started as an experiment. I mean, we’ve been best friends forever. I didn’t know it would spiral out of control. I mean, I wanted it to, I guess. But I don’t think I was ready. I don’t even have things figured out _now_ , let alone then.”

“It’s normal. You’re only seventeen. Of course you don’t have things figured out.”

He nods, relaxing slightly. He feels better, talking with Mali in her room like they used to, when she’d give him advice about stupid things like school and how to get his way with their mother. If anybody will know what to do, Mali will.

“I think Michael wants me to have it figured out,” he mumbles. “I guess he’s tired of waiting, or something.”

“I think he’s tired of you calling it a mistake and trying to separate yourself into the you you are with him and the you you are around everyone else,” Mali corrects.

“Why doesn’t he understand it’s hard for me?” Calum asks plaintively, staring up at Mali. “I thought he understood.” His throat tightens in warning, but he’s almost too tired to cry.

Mali hugs him tighter, keeping him close. He lets himself feel small for the moment. “He understands,” she reassures him. “But even if he understands, it never feels good to be someone’s dirty little secret. And when you said it was a mistake, you should have seen the look on his face.”

Calum is glad he didn’t see. “Do you think he’ll call me back?” Calum whispers, resting his head against her shoulder. “You know lots about boys, right?”

Mali smiles and nods. “Yeah, I do.”

“Then what do I do?”

“You know, I think a good old-fashioned apology would work just fine here.”

“You think that’ll do it?”

“Worth a try, huh?” She gives him an encouraging smile and nudges him with her shoulder. “Hey. I just want to say that I’m proud of you for being brave. I know you’re scared and this is all pretty big stuff for you. But I know that you’re going to work it out. And no matter what, you’re still my baby brother. Nothing you can say will make me think any less of you. You know that, right?”

Calum flushes and nods, almost embarrassed. “Yeah, I know.”

“I know I’m too old to be beating up bullies on the playground for you—”

“It’s never stopped you before.”

“—But you know I would do anything to protect you,” she finishes. “Okay? Good talk.” She offers high five that Calum halfheartedly accepts.

He feels lighter walking back to his room. He whispers it again to himself like he did in the mirror, just to practice. He can do this. Just a step at a time.

 

* * *

 

1.

He shows up at Michael’s house the next afternoon feeling like he’s going to throw up. If Michael doesn’t take him back, he’s fucked. He fidgets on the porch, waiting for the door to open. He glances at Michael’s window on the second story and wonders, fleetingly, if Michael’s already seen him and decided not to come to the door.

But after a minute or two, Michael’s mum opens the door. She smiles at him and ushers him inside. “I’m glad you came. Michael’s been in a mood since yesterday. Nothing you’d know about, I assume?”

Calum smiles guiltily. “Can I talk to him?”

“Do you want me to call him down?” she asks. “I’m going to go get him, and then I’ll give you two some privacy.”

Calum is glad she didn’t make him go up himself, because then he’d be trapped in Michael’s room, and if he needs to make a quick exit it’ll be all the more awkward.

Michael descends the stairs grudgingly. When he sees Calum, he stops, and Calum can already see he’s still mad. His stomach clenches, his nerves skyrocketing. His heart is pounding out of his chest. He dries his hands on the sides of his jeans and tries not to lose his courage.

“What are you doing here?” Michael asks, folding his arms.

“I came to apologize,” Calum says, already feeling the desperation seep into his voice. “Please, Mike. I didn’t mean what I said.”

“You’re always saying that when you’re in trouble,” Michael says, unmoved. “Seems like what you didn’t mean was us.”

“I’m so sorry. I panicked, and I said a lot of stupid things because I was afraid. Okay? I got scared and I had to back out.”

“So why are you here, then?” Michael says, cold and cutting. “We can’t be together if you turn tail every time you get scared. Relationships are scary, Calum. I can’t be your temporary.”

“Listen to me,” Calum says, beginning to feel like this isn’t going very well. Michael must have been thinking about this for a while. “Maybe we moved too fast. And I’m sorry for everything. Being scared wasn’t an excuse to hurt you. But please, please don’t break up with me.”

“Maybe we should go back to being friends,” Michael says, and a flicker of hurt crosses his face. “You’re obviously not ready.”

“I know, I know. But please, Mike. Just one more chance. I’ll take baby steps, promise. I did a lot of thinking last night and I want this, more than anything.” Calum is begging with all he has. The thought of losing Michael terrifies him, and he knows their friendship will never be the same if they go back to being just friends.

“How do I know?” Michael says miserably, throwing up his hands. “First you love me, then you don’t. You want me to be your exception so you don’t have to face the fact that this is who you really are. Well, I can only take so much.”

He’s giving up.

Calum shakes his head. He’s going to cry again. He has to do it now, or he might lose Michael forever. Michael turns to go back up the stairs.

“Before you give up,” Calum says breathlessly, “I came here to say one more thing.”

Michael turns back, looking half over his shoulder. “What?” he says, voice strained.

Calum takes a deep breath and tries to steady himself. His hands are shaking relentlessly by his sides. It’s just Michael, just Michael. He can say it. He has to say it.

“I’m—I’m gay,” he finally stutters out, and releases the breath.

He said it, and it’s like the world has lifted off his shoulders.

Michael turns all the way around. “Really?” he whispers, starting to smile. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Calum says, wiping his eyes. “You’re not my temporary. I’m gay, and you’re forever.”

Michael barrels into him with a hug. Calum doesn’t think Michael’s ever held him this tight before, and that’s how he knows everything is going to be okay. “Fuck,” Michael curses, drying his eyes with his sleeves. “Holy fuck. I’m so proud of you.”

“Thanks,” Calum whispers.

“It’s going to be okay,” Michael says, smiling tremulously. “I really believe that.”

“Will you please give me one more chance?” Calum whispers. “I’m gonna take little steps. I really, really want to make this work.”

Michael squeezes him tight again. “I want that too.”

“I’m really going to try,” Calum swears, reaching up to touch Michael’s face. Michael smiles and puts his hand over Calum’s. “Okay.”

Michael nods and pulls Calum’s knuckles to his mouth, kissing them lightly. “I know you will.”

Michael’s mum pops her head back into the room. “Am I clear? Can I come back now?”

“Yeah, Mum, we’re done,” Michael says, but he doesn’t tear his eyes away from Calum. They don’t stop smiling at each other, just soak it in. It’ll be a fresh start, Calum hopes.

“What’s with all the tears? What did I miss?”

Calum turns to her, still holding Michael’s hand, beaming. “I’m fucking gay, Karen,” he says, riding the high of finally being able to say it out loud. Of course he’s known, of course Michael knew, but saying it, admitting it to himself and to other people, is entirely new, and it suddenly feels like he’s been waiting his whole life to say it.

Karen raises her eyebrows, surprised, but manages to smile back. She doesn’t bother to admonish him for swearing like she usually does; she must understand how significant this is for him. “Glad to hear it. Will you be staying for lunch?”

“I will, thanks,” he says, then looks back at Michael. “If that’s all right with you?”

Michael sneaks a kiss right in front of his mother, just a tiny peck to his cheek. Calum’s cheeks flush and his stomach turns a little, still nervous, still adjusting, but it’s a baby step. He’s ready for it. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

**Author's Note:**

> I recently accidentally deleted my tumblr :( i'm at the same url @ clingyluke so if you used to follow me or you want to now, come on over. additionally, if you wouldn't mind reblogging this fic on tumblr as well just to help get the word out that i exist again, i'd appreciate it <3 thanks guys, love ya


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